Lumox: Wrath
by selena1234
Summary: Tom Riddle is upset - he's stuck in the past, where he should be, and where is Harry? Harry is stuck trying to get Death to bring Tom back forward, for it was Death who messed everything up in the first place. Third year begins on a rough note, and Death is working to find some solution to fix her Master's life span. A complete memory wipe, well...
1. Confessions

**And here we have my first legit Sequel**

**Welcome back to Lumox, this time for :Wrath instead of :Pride**

**XxXxX**

Madam Pomfrey was rather upset that so many people were in her Infirmary, but all things considered, it was kind of necessary.

Harry was sitting on one of the beds, and across from him, Severus Snape was using a pair of muggle tweezers and a muggle dissection knife to extract small shards of a broken coffee mug from Harry's right hand.

Around the two were Albus Dumbledore, Minister Cornelius Fudge, three aurors, Lucius Malfoy and Minerva McGonagall.

"We have examined the body," said Auror Shackelbolt, pausing when Harry let out a small sob, "yet have found none of the trace that you spoke of, sir."

"That is quite alright," Dumbledore lied, frowning. "It may not have been Harry after all. Many of the children have similar magical signatures until they turn about thirteen, and the spell used was truly quite advanced."

"We can't simply do nothing, though!" exclaimed the Minister. "A child died on your grounds, Dumbledore, and the culprit hasn't been caught!"

"Uh," interrupted Harry. "Actually, according to Death, he's not actually dead. She hadn't recieved his soul."

"Death? _She?"_ asked another Auror.

"Yeah," Harry said. "On Halloween, I left the grounds and recieved the last of the three Deathly Hallows and united them, making me the Master of Death. She's been haunting me ever since. Only I can see her, though."

"The last of the _what?_ Master of _WHAT?_" said the Minister again.

He cocked his head to the side, "My mistake, apparently that's _another_ thing she lied to me about."

With a small _whoof_ of black smoke, into view came Death.

The adults in the room - minus Severus - drew their wands and pointed them at the phantom.

"She says hi, by the way." Harry said, scowling.

Severus sighed and cut open a little more of Harry's palm to dig out a deep shard.

XxXxX

Tom was sick to death of these stupid wizards and witches babying him. He most certainly did not have Amnesia, thank you very much.

Yeah, he remembered Death's deal. It went something along the lines of, "_If [A horcrux] gets destroyed, I'll take what you gathered, give you your soul back, and shove you back to where you were taken from just as you left it. If you collect all of them, and I'm sure it'll take a while, then you can either stay in that time zone, or come chill on Death Isle with me. I'd exchange Voldy's repaired soul for yours, and send Voldy back to where you were taken from."_

However, something here didn't quite add up.

_Shove you back to where you were taken from just as you left it._ That meant that he should be angrily walking down the road at age almost-five right now. So why was he at Hogwarts?

It would almost be weird now, he thought, trying to readjust to this time period, when he grew up in the other one.

He frowned. He missed Harry.

He doubted that Harry could make his way to his time period now, anyways.

And when the hell did he get another soul piece?

Where was Voldemort? He got one shard but lost the important piece. The others could _technically_ talk, but because the main shard wasn't there, their sentences were disjointed and they gave him a headache.

And, on top of that, he had to return to the _orphanage_ for summer.

A summer that was two months away.

XxXxX

A formal trial for the murder of "Tom Salazar Riddle III" would be held the minute that the school year ended. He was to go to Dumbledore's office where they would then floo to the Ministry and Harry - as well as Dumbledore - would be tried infront of the whole ministry.

Dumbledore here had a problem. Dead bodies don't accept polyjuice, even polyjuice that used blood instead of hair.

Death also said that the planning for her ritual was going well, and it should be done by Christmas of third year.

Harry then promptly told her that it was not bloody good enough.

XxXxX

Meanwhile, at a graveyard in Godric's Hallow, a werewolf kneeled by the grave of his best friend.

"Hey, James," the wolf whispered, smiling sadly. "I'm sorry I can't tell you what the cub is up to. He's at school right now and I can't even say what house he's in." He laughed weakly. "I was asked to teach there next year, so I'll be able to tell you. You always said that I'd be a good teacher..."

XxXxX

**Hooray, sequel.**


	2. Strife

Tom was released from the hospital wing within the next week, released with Abraxas Malfoy, his quote-unquote 'closest friend'.

As soon as they got three hallways away, Abraxas glanced around and slammed Tom against the wall.

Tom had enough warning and time to draw his wand, though Abraxas had noticed and immediately took it.

"Okay, _Tom._" He said, glaring at the older teen. "Start talking. Who are you and _what have you done with him?_"

Tom struggled against Abraxas' grip, before he answered. "Oh, _please,_ Abraxas. You think that one simple trip down the stairs would change me to the extent that you're implying?"

Abraxas dropped him. Tom, not expecting it, hit the floor hard and struggled momentarily to get his breath back.

"You're not him." He said, glaring down at Tom. "You may _look _like him and have _his_ voice, but you are not him. You better learn, _imposter_, how to act like Tom or you're going to find out that your life here is going to be very, _very_ difficult."

Tom used the wall to help him get back up and he glared at Abraxas. "Despite whatever you may think, _Malfoy, _I am the real Tom Riddle. And even further, if _you _think," He pushed himself forward and grabbed his wand from the other boy's hand, pointing it right under his chin. "That I am more of a pushover than your _fake_ Tom Riddle, then _someone_ is going to have to set you right, yes?"

Abraxas raised an eyebrow, and slowly started to smirk. He pushed away Tom's wand. "We'll see about that, Imposter. We'll see."

He then lead Tom down to the Slytherin dungeons.

When he still had Voldemort in his head, he had natural occlumency shields because of it. However, he did take the time to set up his own barriers just in case.

He was thanking them now, though he hadn't ever needed to shield his emotions behind them, until now.

It would be hard to adapt, but he would make it.

He knew that he would.

XxXxX

Gilderoy Lockhart, self-proclaimed hero and five time winner of _Witch Weekly's _best smile award, knew that something was wrong with a certain Harry Potter.

He had attempted at the beginning of the year to help Harry with his fame - and, in turn, Gilderoy would become more famous himself - but Harry was not what he had expected.

Especially not when it had been revealed that Harry had been a Slytherin all year.

He almost considered then giving up on assisting Harry. Slytherins scared the old Ravenclaw.

But now, with this new development, a certain Tom Riddle's death - A Gryffindor's murder - he was beginning to think about assisting Harry again. He was farily certain that Harry was innocent, and if Gilderoy could get himself into that case - if he could be seen helping poor, poor Harry Potter whose fame went awry, whose fame went to his head, he would be hailed as a hero by people who weren't part of his fanbase, too!

And maybe he could get an Order of Merlin for it...?

That might be pushing it.

So then, a week that Harry got out of the Hospital Wing, Gilderoy asked him to come see him in his office.

Absently, Harry let himself in to the man's office and took a seat.

Gilderoy finished styling his hair before he took a seat across from Harry and he smiled.

"What did you need to see me for?" Harry asked in a monotone.

"Ah! Harry! Yes! I called you in here to - ah, Harry perhaps you would like some tea, first?"

Harry was silent for a second before he agreed.

Gilderoy poured the poor child some chamomile tea that may or may not have been laced with a calming draught. Harry checked it for spells and potions before he consumed it, and payed no mind to the calming draught.

Gilderoy believed that he allowed the calming draught because Harry _knew_ why they were there, he knew what they were about to discuss.

In truth, it was because Harry had been so disraught lately that he _needed_ it.

"Now, then, Harry," He continued, once the boy's tea was half empty, "I want to talk to you about the murder of your friend, Tom Riddle."

Harry looked up at the man sharply and set the cup down very quickly before both of their tea cups crumbled into dust.

Gilderoy payed it no mind.

"Now, you and I both know that you didn't kill your young friend, but you're still going to go on trial for it, now aren't you? Yes, you are! Here's where I can help you-"

He suddenly found himself knocked out.

When he woke up, he was tied to the ceiling. Right below him was his wand.

Harry was gone.

XxXxX

_Okay._

_Okay okay okay._

_What do we know about Tom Riddle - the Voldemort version? _

Tom was pacing in the Slytherin dorms.

_He's charming. Everyone likes him._

_And at the same time, no one knows anything about him._

_Abraxas knows that I'm not his true Tom Riddle, so he'll be suspicious of me a lot._

_Who else was he super "close" to? Lestranges? There's several of them. Blacks? There's a few of them, too. Oh, what are their names? Bellatrix? - no, she's part of his later crowd, and a Lestrange anyways. Who else do I need to be careful of?!_

Tom flopped onto his bed and sighed. _I'm doomed._

"Hey, Tom," said a voice from the doorway.

"Hello...?" Tom said, trailing off, hoping for a name.

"I'm Alphard Black. Salazar, you really do have Amnesia." The boy sat down on the bed across from him and smirked. "You also owe me thirteen galleons from that time I loaned you so that you could get a christmas present for your crush, my sister, Walgaburga Black."

Tom glared at him. "I don't have _crushes_ and I most certainly wouldn't lower my pride enough to _borrow_ money from _you_ of all people. I'd rather borrow from the Malfoys." Okay, so it was a lie. He had no clue what the guy was telling the truth or not.

Alphard laughed. "So you remember some things! That's good." He got up and left the room. "See you later, Riddle."

Tom rubbed his head and scowled.


	3. Knowledge

_**Harry Potter: Saviour or Ruler?**_

_Article by Rita Skeeter._

_Several weeks ago, Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore - oh, we all know who he is! - he brought some shocking information to light! Second Year Gryffindor, Tim Riddle, and Second Year Slytherin, Harry Potter - shocking, isn't it? - they had been switching places in their classes all year. According to him, it had been orchestrated by Tim Riddle the whole time._

_However, a few days ago, the Headmaster made a shocking announcement. Tim Riddle had been murdered._

_And his murderer was none other than Harry Potter!_

The prisoner threw down the paper in disgust.

Harry Potter, his little cub, his pup - a murderer? It was impossible. How could he and Remus have let their cub fall this far dark? Oh, if only James was alive to see this -

Though, the prisoner thought, if James were alive, Harry wouldn't be a slimy Slytherin. He wouldn't be dark to begin with.

Staring up at him was a picture of his pup and two of his friends, the Brilliant Mr. Draco Malfoy and Ron Westley. They were standing, shoulder-to-shoulder, trying to hide Harry from the Camera flashes. Sirius could just barely make out Harry behind them, so short as he was.

Sirius smiled sadly and traced the outline of the photo with his thumb.

Something in the photo moved - in Ron's pocket. Frowning, Sirius picked the paper back up and brought it close to his face.

From the kid's pocket peeked a certain rat. One with a missing finger.

He let out a howl of rage, and down the halls of Azkaban, other prisoners echoed him.

XxXxX

In the Past, Tim - ehem, Tom - Tom Riddle barely managed to dodge someone trying to hit his head from behind -

\- only to trip as another student stuck his foot out. Tom raised his head high and stood up, dusting himself off before glaring at the Gryffindor as he picked his books back up from the floor.

The Gryffindor, a Weasley, only smiled.

Tom rolled his shoulders when he stood back up. The _aversion_ therapy that the Headmaster had given him was nothing short of torture, and he was feeling the effects even now, in the past and a week in the future. That is to say, a week has passed since he was last _tortured_ and he was in the past - his actual, real time - now.

Weasleys. Potters. Malfoys. They all made him want to throw up, to _explode_, they all made him want to do _something_ that made him avoid trying to be near them or else be affected by the Headmaster's _torture._

Tremors raked through his body as he passed the Weasley, heading to his seat. Transfiguration. It, of course, had to be taught by none other than the Deputy Headmaster of this time, the Headmaster of the future.

When Dumbledore walked into the room, he again felt the tremors of promised pain. Tom let out a shaky breath, attempting to steel himself.

XxXxX

Harry, in the present - the future? - was not feeling any better than Tom, even by the end of the school year. He was working overtime now to get together some sort of evidence that Dumbledore was to blame, not himself, some sort of fact that shows that he's innocent. He knew that they wouldn't use Veriterserum on him, for he was younger than thirteen, and had no legal guardian now to give it the okay.

Death had gone invisible again, and she was causing mischief like normal. It had spread like wildfire that Harry was haunted by Death, and so, of course, someone spread the rumor that anyone that touched Harry was cursed to die a most horrible death some time in the near future. It could not be proven, but they believed it anyways, so now everyone avoided Harry like the Plague.

Good riddance, he thought, as he stormily walked his way to the Library.

Who needs them anyways?

XxXxX

"Harry, what did I say about this?"

"Not to do it." Harry responded, setting his Invisibility cloak across the back of a chair. He frowned as he examined the bookshelf, trying to find the book that Voldemort told him would be here.

Hermione sat in the chair that his cloak was on and she frowned. "Do take your time, I don't need sleep or anything."

Harry raised his eyebrow and glanced at her. "You're always welcome to _borrow_ my cloak and go back to your common room."

"But without my presence here, the books will start screaming again. I'm just glad that Dumbledore didn't remove me from the wards."

"Why would he?" Harry asked, wandering over to the next aisle. "You're not on our side, part of our group, remember?"

"Whatever you say, Harry." Hermione responded, sighing.

Harry glanced over the books, looking for one in particular. "Ah, here it is." He said, pulling out a book. It was a faded black color, with a red line along its spine. He flipped it open to the middle and started skimming for the spell he was looking for. Harry and Hermione both were rather surprised that the book hadn't been removed, due to some of the other spells within its pages.

"Found it," Harry said. "The spell is _Barimona_. That's all I needed."

"Alright, Harry." Hermione said, standing up. "Promise me that you'll get some sleep."

"Yeah, yeah," He said absently, putting the book back and heading into the main library. "Good night, Hermione."

"Good Night, Harry. Have a nice summer." She said, making her trek back to her common room.

Harry wandered over to the Laws area and pulled out six books that he wanted to learn from, placing them around him.

_I hope you know not to over do this,_ Voldemort said, mentally frowning. _This requires a lot of power for simply one book, never mind six at a time. I tried it when I was sixteen, and I nearly passed out. That was with one book. _

_I know what I'm doing._ Harry said. _I need to learn a lot of information in very little time, and this is the best way to do it._

Harry drew the dagger he used to kill the Dursleys from his robe and sliced his pointer finger. On each of the six books, he drew the rune for Knowledge. He passed the Elder Wand over each of them, and he mumbled _Barimona._

In one fell swoop, Harry fell to the floor, gasping. He felt lightheaded and weak, his muscles were shaking. But the _knowledge._ He felt like he knew _everything_.

Or, at least, everything in those six books. Every word, what they implied, what page they were on, the chapter titles, names.

Harry used the desk to help himself stand back up, and he grabbed his cloak.

A nap seemed to be in order.

He managed to make it to the common room shakily before he passed out under his cloak in his favorite chair.


	4. Trial

The students left the castle by noon, and Harry Potter was nowhere to be found. In the morning, while the Slytherins were packing up, his chair was avoided like usual, because his favorite chair was likely as cursed as he was.

The only people not subscribing to the _Harry's haunted by Death_ _and so everything he touches is doomed_ theory were the first years. They remembered Harry being nice to them at the beginning of the year and he even gave them his old Direction Stick. All of them had used it at least once, and they weren't dead yet.

Harry was still asleep at noon.

Dumbledore, at eleven thirty, visited the Slytherin Common room, in a half-hearted attempt to find him before his Trial. However, he could not be found.

Dumbledore just so happened to ignore the foot peeking out from under the cloak in Harry's chair.

So he went to the Ministry to tell them that Harry Potter was not to be found. He knew that he was guilty, so he ran away, and Dumbledore would do all that he could to find Mr. Potter to bring him to justice.

At 12:15, Harry woke up.

As soon as he woke up, he tore his cloak off and he checked the time. No one was here - he overslept.

In a panic, Harry ignored Voldemort telling him to calm down, and he quickly high-tailed it out of the castle and off of the grounds. From there, he apparated to the Ministry, ignore the looks of the people nearby who just saw a twelve-year-old apparate, and he ran to the elevator, ignoring the wizards who were yelling at him to stop and have his identity proven.

He quickly pressed the little red X button, canceling every other command and he hit the 9 button. Luckily for him, he knew exactly where he was going. He ignored the others in the elevator who had their wands pointed at him.

Once they got down to floor nine, the Atrium, he ran down to courtroom ten.

"I have told you, Cornelius, that I looked for Mr. Potter both in his common room and I asked my source on the Train if he was there, and he was no-"

_SLAM._

Harry slowed his run to a quick walk, and he stopped altogether in the middle of the room, doubling over to catch his breath.

"Tell - tell your wizards that - their security - it sucks. Oh merlin." Harry sat in the available chair, obviously his.

"Mr. Potter! The time is now twelve twenty two! Where have you been?" Asked Minister Fudge.

"I overslept. Sort of."

"Sort of? What could you have been doing?" Asked a lady in pink.

"I had been up late studying laws and other things that may help my case, and I had to learn very quickly, so I used a spell that I had found -"

"And what is the nature of this spell? What is it called?"

"I don't remember," He lied. "I found it in a book in Diagon Alley, and I know that the Ministry would never allow any dark spellbook to be sold within Diagon Alley. Anyways, the spell helped me learn awfully quickly but it used a lot of my magical power. It put me in a small coma, that's all."

"And," continued Minister Fudge, "Your... phantom. Where is it?"

"It is a she, sir," Harry said as Death poofed into view. She had been sitting next to the minister. Of course, her appearance happened to cause a bit of a panic, so people stood rapidly and pulled out their wand. Death giggled and poofed over to Harry.

"Can... _she_ cause you to be unaffected by potions such as Veriterserum? Can she help you escape physical confinements?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Asked Harry. "She's neutral anyways, as much as she can be. I haven't figured out a way to force her to do anything, so she wouldn't unless I could make her."

The Minister nodded to two of the Aurors in the back of the courtroom. They stepped forward and they took Harry's hands, strapping him down to the chair.

He allowed it to happen.

"Now then," the Minister said, "Let us finally start this Trial. Murder Trial of the first degree of June first into offences committed under the Decree of Wizarding Code number Thirteen, by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging."

"Uh, yeah, hey," Harry interrupted. "I haven't lived there for years. Who updates your records?"

Ignoring him, Fudge continued. "Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magial Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; Court Scribe, Narcissa Malfoy née Black -"

Harry glanced over to her. She smiled at him sadly.

"-Witness of the Offence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. The Charges."

Harry gulped and steeled himself for what he knew was going to come.

"The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliverately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions commit a murder of the first degree against one Tom Salazar Riddle the Third, which constitutes an offence under paragraph D of the Decree of Wizarding Code number Thirteen, 1655."

Harry closed his eyes and exhaled.

"Did you or did you not murder Tom Salazar Riddle the Third?"

"I did not." Harry said, taking a deep breath.

"He did," said Dumbledore calmly next to him.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, care to tell your side of the story?"

"On April Thirteenth, I decided I would take a walk very late at night, for my old bones were acting up and the best way to get them to stop, I had discovered, was to walk it off. So, I took a walk. It was behind the greenhouses that I found his body. There was no sign of injury, so I assumed at first that he may be asleep. However, his eyes were open. I casted a spell that allowed me to see magical signatures, and all over his body was the signature of Harry James Potter, who had casted the Avada Kedavra on poor Tom Riddle."

"Did others examine the body?"

"Yes, Auror Shacklebolt did."

XxXxX

"Hey, Hermione," Draco said, back on the train.

"Yes?" She responded, looking up from her book.

"Have you noticed something? Pansy Parkinson - I don't think I've seen her since before April."

"Huh." She responded, frowning. "I haven't seen her either. And for that matter, I don't think I saw Goyle get on the train."

XxXxX

"And I said the day that the Aurors examined his body," Harry said, "Death claims that Tom's not actually dead." Death, beside him, nodded.

"What does her nod mean? Yes, she said that he's not dead or yes he's dead?"

"She says that he's not dead." Harry said.

"Why is it that we can't hear her, but we can see her?" asked Madam Bones.

They watched Death's mouth move. Harry then rolled his eyes. "She says, and I quote, 'I could speak aloud for you all to hear but then you would die. Only the master of Death can hear me speak without dying him or herself.' end quote."

"Well that's convenient," said the Headmaster. "You could be misquoting her words."

"I could be, yes." Harry admitted. "But I'm not."

"How do we know that you're not?" He asked, frowning down at Harry.

"You'd have to use Veriterserum on me or perhaps Legillimency or you could, oh, I don't know, take my word for it?" Harry actually listened to Voldemort this time when he told him to calm down. Getting worked up now would only lead to damages.

Fudge leaned over and whispered to the lady in pink.

She nodded and left the room.

"We have decided to use Veriterserum on the accused."

"I have no living relative who can say that this is okay," Harry said. "It says under paragraph E of the Wizarding Rights under Questioning decree, section A4."

"Yes, but under that same decree, section B8, if the person under question has no living relatives, they are a part of the Ministry, and therefore, we are your living relatives who say that this is okay." claimed Fudge.

When Umbridge came back into the room with her vial of Veriterserum, Harry clamped his mouth shut.

He would not.

He would _never._

Umbridge smiled sweetly at him as she pinched his nose shut.

He would not.

He would _not._

Unwillingly, Harry's mouth opened and he gasped for breath. Umbridge took this time to put three drops of Veriterserum into his mouth.

He felt himself going slack.

"What is your name?" She asked.

Before he could stop himself, he replied, "Harry James Potter."

"Excellent!"

_Harry, calm down._ Voldemort said to him.

In their mind room, both of them were awake.

_How can I calm down,_ he said, mentally seething, _when they're using veriterserum on a twelve-year-old. _

"Where were you the early morning of April thirteenth?"

_How can I calm down when they're asking me questions about killing my _brother_?_

"I was in the Slytherin common room, reading a book until two-fifty in the morning."

_How can I be calm when they're implying that I'm a messed up orphan child whose mind may or may not have rotted!?_

_"_Did you murder Tom Salaz-"

_HOW CAN I BE CALM WHEN-_

He paused when he felt his magic surging up. It quickly surged up and over, burning its way through his veins, eradicating the potion.

His magic melted the restrains on his hands and he stood up angrily.

"I DID NOT KILL TOM RIDDLE. THIS IS ILLEGAL AND I _WILL NOT STAND FOR-"_

His angry tirade was stopped when the doors slammed open again, and a stranger stumbled in. He had long, black hair and he looked a little worse for wear.

"Sirius Black!" exclaimed Minister Fudge, standing up and pulling out his wand.

"Before you curse me," He yelled to them, "Hear me out!"

Dumbledore frowned. When did Sirius Black ecape Azkaban?


	5. Verdict

And, of course, panic ensued.

What else would happen when famed murderer Sirius Black, who had just escaped azkaban, infiltrates the murder trial of his twelve-year godson?

Sirius, gasping for breath, ran further into the room and he stopped by his godson's chair.

"I am innocent, I tell you!" Sirius yelled to the gathered wizengamot, "I have proof!"

Fudge motioned to the aurors that lined the court room to apprehend the criminal. Several of them stupefied him, and Sirius passed out like a light. Fudge brushed off his robe and he straightened out his hat, sitting back down. "Now that he has been apprehended, sit him in a holding cell and keep it well guarded! At first convenience, retrieve a Dementor of Azkaban and administer the Dementor's Kiss."

A chorus of "Yes, Minister" came from the Aurors and they hauled him out of the room.

_Sirius wasn't one of my Death Eaters - I wonder what he was in Azkaban for. _Voldemort commented, mildly surprised. _He was your Godfather you know._

Harry, in shock, sunk back into his chair. That man, he was in Azkaban. Why was he in Azkaban? What for? How did he even escape? Why did no one tell him that his godfather was a criminal?

After a minute of internal mayhem, he turned back to the wizengamot, his face blank.

"Now then, back to the murder trial of Harry Potter. In light of recent events, we have decided to find Harry Potter guilty of his crime and we sentence him to four years of time in Azkaban." A bang of his gavel and Harry's fate was sealed.

"I- Wait a minute -" Harry's fable attempts to defend himself were ignored as the remaining aurors stunned the young boy.

Harry's world went black.

XxXxX

"Minister," Dumbledore said, once Harry was stunned and placed in a travel cage, meant for prisoners who would soon be shipped to Azkaban. "I would like to thank you for your decision on this case. I know it is not easy to have the thought that you sentenced Harry Potter, a young twelve-year-old boy to Azkaban, one of the worst places on the planet, on your concience. I know that it will rest uneasy on mine, but justice had to be served."

"... yes, yes, Professor Dumbledore, you're right. It made me uneasy to sentence it," Fudge said, nodding grimly, "but justice must be served."

Lucius and Narcissa left soon after that, he noted idly, as he had a pleasent word with Madame Longbottom. ("Thank Merlin that we sentenced that murderer guilty, I don't want my little Neville near that monster.")

Dumbledore couldn't help but feel like things were finally starting to roll his way. Then, in a month or two, he would talk to the minister about 'reforming the boy' after his brief stay in the hellhole and Harry would be completely in his debt, his mind a mess and ready for molding.

At least, that's how he thought that those sorts of things go. He was sort of new to this whole 'manipulation' process.

XxXxX

Harry shuddered, curling in on himself as he attempted to get the cold out of his system.

Where was he?

Oh, yeah, that's right. Harry slowly opened his eyes, greeting the dank gray of his cell walls. One the wall he was facing, someone there before him had bitten into their finger in order to mark the days on the wall. A quick count marked twenty eight days before they stopped. Idly, he wondered if they simply stopped counting or if they were unable continue.

Shuddering again, Harry pulled himself up off of the floor and onto the sleeping mat that they had so kindly provided. It looked and smelled like someone had died in it - perhaps the previous cell's owner, who had marked the walls? He was unable to put more thought into the subject, for a dementor passed outside of his door. A flash of green light, a high scream, his voice arguing with Tom, and he passed out again.

It wouldn't be the last time.

XxXxX

Tom felt like he was in hell, too.

Muggle children, honestly.

They stole some of his stuff already! Two pairs of his nice shoes, a bracelet that Harry made him for christmas when they were nine and they tore up one of his books. It was only day one.

Of course, he couldn't help resenting Harry a little bit. Here he was, shoved back in the past in this hellhole while Harry was probably in the manor, having a small feast, while he only got a piece of bread for dinner. Harry still had some of their other friends to surround them. Here, Tom had no one. Yes, Harry was the lucky one out of them, no doubt about that.

XxXxX

The next day, Remus Lupin dropped his morning cup of tea on the floor when he picked up that morning's prophet.

Guilty.

Harry was Guilty of the crime, of killing Tom Riddle. The first time he saw the article about him being accused of killing the young Gryffindor - the one that told him that Harry was actually a Slytherin - yeah, it surprised him and all, but he didn't expect Harry to come out as guilty from the incident!

James, oh James, what would the poor old marauder think about his little bambi now?

What does _he_ think of his little cub, he wondered, setting the paper down.

Remus frowned at the paper. _Azkaban, huh?_ That was easy enough to get a visitation pass into, he hoped.

XxXxX

"_I AM TELLING YOU RIGHT BLOODY NOW,_" Ron yelled, ripping the thick newspaper in half. "_HARRY POTTER IS NOT BLOODY GUILTY OF MURDERING TOM."_

"Ronniekins, the _Prophet_ says -"

"I DON'T BLOODY CARE WHAT THE BLOODY _PROPHET_ SAYS, THEY'RE WRONG! _WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG WR-"_

"Petrificus totalus!" Molly said, frightened. Her poor son was so mislead by that foul boy-who-fooled-us-all.

Arthur frowned at her. "What if he's right? He knew the two better than we did, Molly dear. Plus there was that little stretch of time where they both stayed here, and they looked very, very close. I find it hard to believe that two best friends can fall apart that fast in only seven or eight months."

Molly frowned at him in turn. "We'll talk about this more in the morning.

XxXxX

Draco recieved the news later the day that the verdict passed.

Luckily for him, they didn't tell him directly. His parents arrived back in the manor and immediately sent him to his room. Draco, instead of following their orders - he figured that it had to be pretty bad if they didn't bring the boy back with them - he walked over to the door leading to the family wing of the manor and, checking to make sure that they weren't watching them, opened and closed the door while hiding behind the couch right next to it.

"I can't believe this," Narcissa said, leaning on Lucius. "They called him guilty!"

"I know, darling," he said, comforting her. "But you saw how he reacted when they asked him if he was guilty. He tore right through the binds and the veriteserum potion. That's the reaction of someone who's guilty."

"But sending him to azkaban-"

"It was dangerous to not send him! You saw the power that he posesses! He killed the Dark Lord! He needs to _pay_ for that! He needed to pay for it eleven years ago when he did it the first time and he needs to pay even more now when _he_ gave us a shimmer of hope at victory! Harry Potter will do more than rot in azkaban - he'll be _tortured_ for this."

Draco covered his mouth to keep from making noise.

Harry - he had to warn Harry! But how? How would he do that without alerting his parents? How would Harry even defend himself, even if he did get a warning beforehand?

Draco took a risk and he peeked out from behind the couch - a mistake, as Lucius and Narcissa had been walking towards the door to the family wing.

"Dragon, I thought I told you to go to your room." Lucius said, catching sight of the small flash of blonde hair as Draco quickly hid back behind the couch.

"I -" Draco said, gulping. "I needed to know. He's my friend, you know." He dared not move from his position.

"Go. Your room. Now. We'll talk about this later."

Draco didn't look back as he scrambled to his room.


	6. Return

Months and months passed, or so it seemed to the two soon-to-be Third Years. Their time was filled with arguments with their parents and groundings. Their parents would hear none of their petty drivel about how Harry Potter was innocent. They refused to believe of their friend's guilt. As a result, they didn't get to see each other during the summer like they did last year, what with Tom out of commission and Harry in Azkaban. Ron and Draco both had begun to go stir crazy, though their boredom was quelled by the thought of Harry; how bored must he be?

Within the first week of their first grounding, Draco had asked his parents for a few journals in which to document their years at Hogwarts. Considering the fact that Draco had escaped his room no less than thirteen times within the first two days of his grounding, Lucius was quick to give in and just buy the boy some notebooks. It was within those books that Draco began to write, for he had nothing else to occupy his time.

Ron was being kept busy by his family, doing countless chores to keep him out of mischief during the time that he's not allowed to leave the house.

XxXxX

In the first week, Tom had ignored them.

The second week, he had been less inclined to simply ignore them. They had begun to wear down on his nerves.

The third week, Tom had struck back.

Tom could deal with them stealing his stuff, calling him names, and generally being nuisances, but he could only deal with it for so long. His first order was to frighten them to the point where they would stop messing with him, so he set up an elaborate prank on the entire building. Of course, it was more of an attack than a prank, but to Tom's mind, it sounded nicer as a "prank".

In the end, seven kids had to be taken to the hospital, but it was a small price to pay.

The kids learned to leave Tom alone.

He stole his bracelet back, and all was right.

Week four, the bracelet disappeared again.

Week five, and he had it back. His bracelet and a dead body.

Don't mistake that for Tom having killed the kid; it was quite the opposite rather. The kid had attempted to kill Tom and they happened to travel near a snake nest, and the snake struck the kid. Caerro was nice enough to calmly diffuse the snake that bit the kid before Tom became the snake's next victim, but the kid still died.

The next day, the nest was killed.

Week six and the orphanage learned to further fear the boy named Tom Marvolo Riddle.

XxXxX

The date was July thirty first. Despite having been asleep for a vast majority of his time in Azkaban - asleep or unconscious - Harry still knew the moment it became midnight, the moment that he turned thirteen.

The screams of the damned echoed through the prison. One of which he had begun to recognize, as the man whose cell was across from him had retained a sliver of sanity and identified the voice for Harry. The man who identified the scream had called himself Rabastan, the screams came from Bellatrix. Harry's mind - when he was waking - nagged at him, for he should know those names, but he had other things to occupy his attention.

Like counting the days until his release. Six years, three hundred and two days left to go.

Harry sighed and rested his head on the wall of his cell. Unlike last year, Harry assumed that he would't receive any presents at the stroke of midnight, or any minutes after that. Nor would he receive presents the next year. Or the year after that, or the year after that.

Harry closed his eyes, and he made a wish. He wished that Tom, at least, was faring better than he was, and that Draco and Ron weren't being punished too badly.

"Harry, my boy?" He heard. Harry's eyes snapped open and he whipped his head to the bars. He reluctantly got up from his bed and stood in front of the last person he wanted to see.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," he greeted none too kindly, his voice cold and unwelcoming.

"Ah! There you are. Care for a lemon drop?" He held out the bag to Harry, a light smile on his face. Harry glanced at the bag and shook his head.

"No thank you, Headmaster. The delicious food of Azkaban has desensitized me to sour candies infused with illegal potions." Dumbledore, surprisingly, laughed lightly and put the bag away. "Why are you here?" He asked, crossing his thin arms.

Dumbledore reached into his robe pocket and out came a slip of paper.

With a soft smile on his face - yet his eyes betrayed a deeper fire, one that didn't seem quite so innocent and well meaning to the twelve year old - the old Headmaster handed the paper to Harry.

Harry unfurled the paper slowly, his eyes following the top of the paper, disbelieving.

**Ministry of Magic**

Release form under sector 211B

Request from: Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore [115]

Asking for: Harry J. Potter [12]

Crime: Murder of first degree (Tom S. Riddle III [12]) 6/12

Reasons: Rehabilitation

Request: Granted

Harry's eyes froze on the word Rehabilitation. What sort of rehabilitation did the old coot have in mind?

"I've come to take you home."


	7. Control

_Home._

What, truly is _Home?_

Harry kicked his bedframe with a massive scowl on his face.

Most certainly not a sub room of the Headmaster's office, riddled to the brim with wards that kept him in?

Harry landed a second, much harder kick to the bed frame and cursed loudly as he bruised his toes.

What had the old man been thinking?

He couldn't keep Harry locked up in his room like - like -

_Like a criminal._

Not caring about the fact that he was likely to break his toes, he again laid a powerful kick to his poor bedframe.

After his release from Azkaban, Dumbledore had lead him back to Hogwarts and into his new room. It was bare, save for the bed - plain, grey sheets and pillow cases with a lighter grey blanket on top of it - a dresser, made of plain oak, and a massive mirror adorning the entire wall across from the door.

He hated how gaunt and thin he had become, how sunken his eyes were, how positively _ill_ he looked. He hated it.

Despite the short stay in Azkaban, he had deteriorated.

Voldemort didn't say much, for there wasn't much for him to say.

What was there to say? I'm sorry you landed yourself in Azkaban for a crime you didn't commit? Sorry that your mental state, which started lightly unstable, deteriorated immensely while under the effect of creatures that forced Harry to relive his worst memories? I'm sorry that I killed your parents and forced you to relive that memory over - and over - and over? Sorry that my voice reminds you of the fact that I tried to kill you?

Voldemort decided to remain silent.

Meanwhile, Harry threw open the drawers in his dresser and he tossed out all of the clothes within. Plain white shirts, black slacks, school robes in -

Red and Gold.

Was Dumbledore serious?

He's not a Gryffindor.

He never was.

Scowling further, he threw the robes angrily across the room.

He was sent in here with the instructions to change and get ready for dinner.

Well _SCREW THAT._

He wasn't about to do anything that Dumblewhore demanded of him.

He then ripped the actual drawer out and threw that against the mirror. Neither broke, to his anger. Stomping over to the mirror, he picked up the drawer and slammed it as hard as he could into his reflection.

Neither broke.

Again, again, again and again he continued to slam the drawer. Eventually, he dropped the drawer and used his fists, slaming the mirror until he collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily.

_Why._

_Why me?_

"Are you done with your little temper tantrum, my boy?" Harry heard from the doorway. With renewed energy, Harry stood back up with the drawer in hand and he threw it into the doorway. Dumbledore sidestepped the drawer, a frown on his face. "I had asked you to change out of your dirty clothes, Harry, not to make a mess of your room. Here, let me clean this for you, though this is the only time I will do so." With a wave of his wand, everything was back in its place. "Why don't you change into this," - another wave of his wand and a stack of neatly folded clothes set themselves on his bed - "and I will await you in the dining room."

The door closed with a click. Harry bowed his head in temporary defeat. If this was the game that he wanted to play, Harry would be happy to play it.

XxXxX

Death frowned slightly as she thumbed through a book. Sure, she could do it, but it'd take her another month of preparation. With luck it'd be completed by the time Harry boarded the train to begin school on September first.

Yes. Death smirked. She could do that.

Setting down her book, Death floated off.

The title of the chapter read _Universe Manipulation: Mass Memory Rewriting_

XxXxX

Harry sat at the table, staring down at his - what time was it? He didn't know. He'd call it dinner for now, despite the fact that there were scrambled eggs and bacon on his plate, but he still wanted to know the time.

It was still his thirteenth birthday, he knew that much. He hadn't received a single goddamn present, he knew that as well.

Being released from Azkaban, well, that didn't count.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, spearing some of his scrambled eggs on his fork. "Are you not going to eat?"

Harry stabbed some of the egg with much more force than needed, accompanied by the horrid scratching of metal on ceramic plate. With another forceful shove, the egg was placed into his mouth. His teeth clamped down on the fork and he fought himself to get the fork back out of his mouth.

Dumbledore frowned.

Obviously his little temper tantrum hadn't subsided.

"Harry, I'd appreciate if you used a little less force. You don't need to be hurting yourself or the plates."

His only response was to continue his motion with more force.

Dumbledore sighed.

"I've devised a schedule for you to follow, Harry. I will be teaching you Occlumency on top of three hours a day of rehabilitation therapy, though this takes five hours of your day. Therefore, the remaining hours of your day, I shall allow you to read books and do your homework. Every book you read, however, must be pre-approved by me or it will not be allowed into your room. You will be asleep by nine and awake by seven." He passed the paper across the table.

Harry didn't touch it. His fork clattered to his plate and he stood abruptly, his chair falling to the floor with a loud clatter.

"DO YOU THINK THAT MY LIFE IS A JOKE, DUMBLEDORE?" He screamed, rage etched into his features. "You think that you can _control _me and my life and _every aspect of my day?_ Do you think that you're playing _GOD_, Headmaster? Because I assure you, I won't go down without _a massive, bloody fight!_ I'm not going to conform to you _bloody schedule _and I'm not going to _wake up when you tell me to_ and I'm not going to let you _control every aspect of my life_! Do you understand me you bloody evil _monster?_ I'm not going to handle this and I'm not going to do what you tell me to!" He slammed his hands down on the table for good measure and then stormed to his room, slamming the door with a massive boom that resonated through the headmaster's quarters.

It would be a long month.


	8. Anger

"Harry please."

"WHAT'S THE ISSUE DUMBLEDORE?!"

Harry's head was plowed through the wall between his bedroom and the headmaster's office. Dumbledore sighed, and waved his wand. Harry was pushed back through the wall, and the hole that the child had created was refilled.

It had been a month since he had picked Harry up from Azkaban. Term starts tomorrow, and Dumbledore was tough for luck as far as getting Harry to a state of mind in which he could handle being part of the general public.

He was angry. All the time. He was spiteful and hateful and he never followed instructions like he was told.

"CAN'T TAKE THE RESPONSIBILITY OF BABYSITTING A MURDERER ALL MONTH? _HUH?"_ Came his muffled voice through the door.

This was ridiculous.

He walked into Harry's room, examining how his room had changed since Harry's birthday. Dumbledore hadn't cared how he kept his room. He didn't have to live in it.

He used to care.

A month has done some weird things to him.

"Harry, you have to be able to interact with the students tomorrow."

"I can interact with _them_ just fine." Harry said, calmly sitting on his bed. "It's just _you_ that I'm going to give a hard time. If I knew that _that_ was your issue, we'd've been fine ages ago. Can we get my school stuff now?"

Dumbledore realized then and there that it would be more than a long few months. It would be a long _decade._

XxXxX

They did indeed get Harry's school stuff, but no more than Dumbledore thought necessary for the school year. Extra parchment, more quills and inkwells, the books required for his third year. Harry had opted to take Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, two classes that he wished that Harry hadn't picked. They were intelligent choices. He hadn't meant for Harry to turn out to be intelligent.

That is to say, he hoped that Harry wouldn't become a sort of person with the capability to question his decisions. Intelligent people can question him with valid reasoning.

He had hoped that Harry wouldn't become like that.

It was not to be.

And finally, the school year arrived.

He took Harry to the station so that he could ride up with his _friends._

Harry was out of his hands for now.

He sat back in his desk and took a deep breath.

He was too old for this.

XxXxX

Harry noticed the deep, heavy air in the station the minute he stepped out of the floo. The foreboding sense of _wrong_ magic.

What was up?

He looked around cautiously, surveying everything around him. Something was wrong.

Something was _very_ wrong.

He couldn't quite pinpoint what, though. He couldn't exactly pay it no mind, either, for he had the overwhelming instinct that it'd affect him.

Hopefully it wasn't too bad?

The further Harry walked down the train to their usual compartment, the heavier the feeling seemed to get. The more suffocating.

He sat down and waited for the rest of his friends to arrive.

Draco walked in and froze.

"Harry." He breathed.

"Draco!" Harry exclaimed, jumping to his feet and hugging Draco.

"You're- How did you - !?"

"Dumbledore got a warrant for my release a month ago and I wasn't allowed to write to you guys! I've had to spend the last month in his _care_ and it sucked."

"You're _back_!"

This event was repeated twice; once when Hermione entered the compartment and again when Ron ran in just as the train took off.

Boy was he _glad_ to be back.

The heavy magic in the air seemed to not want to dissipate, though, and it still seemed to be getting heavier and heavier.

And then, half way to Hogwarts,

"I'm telling you Draco, muggleborns-" Hermione started,

The magic popped.

"Are part… of…"

A vague confusion settled on his mind.

Why was Draco in his compartment?

No, wait a minute, he was supposed to be here. He shook his head free of the mist blocking it. Draco was part of their Lumox group. He was Greed. Harry was Wrath, Hermione was Gluttony and Ron was Envy.

Tom used to be Pride.

That's right.

He glanced at Hermione. Why wasn't she continuing?

The look on her face - ?

Disgust?

Towards Draco?

"Why are you sitting in our compartment?" She spat at him.

"Why would I ever spend my time with you blood traitors and mudbloods?" He spat back, standing and brushing himself off.

What was going on?

Draco left the compartment, slamming the door behind him.

"The _nerve_ of Malfoy, am I right, Harry?"

"Yeah, mate. He's barmy."

_What was going on?_

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, getting more confused as the conversation wore on. A moment ago, she was attempting to convince Draco that muggleborns belonged in Hogwarts. He knew that Draco agreed, of course, but he rather enjoyed riling her up. But then-?

What had happened?

"Malfoy, mate. He hates you, remember? Bane of your existence?"

"We're - we're friends, remember? The entire incident of the Prank War? Us being locked in the Room of Requirement? You had a right fit about that one, wanted to punch Tom because I came back with a cut on my cheek that you thought that Draco caused it."

"Who's Tom?" Hermione asked.

He felt his heart skip a beat.

"Who - Who's Tom?" Harry exclaimed. "He's - ! I just - !" He was at a loss for words. He… He had _just_ spent two months in Azkaban, serving time for his _murder_! How could they _forget_-?

He could feel tears well in his eyes, but he wouldn't cry. Not now. Not _ever_.

They had forgotten him. His _brother_. His _other half._

They. They forgot him.

How? _Why?_

Hermione placed her hand on his. "I know your time at the Dursley's is always difficult for you, Harry, but…"

The _who_?

Oh. That's right.

It had been eight years since he heard their name last, but he couldn't help but be thankful for their _horrible_ care of him. If it weren't for them, he wouldn't have met Tom.

"That happened years ago, Hermione. What do they have to do with anything? And on top of that, I don't think I had ever told you about them…"

She and Ron exchanged a look of confusion before turning to him in concern. "Harry, you spend every summer there."

"Yeah, mate…" Ron continued, "We even rescued you just last year from there. They had bars on your window."

This was getting weird.

_What's going on?_


End file.
